


'Til It All Falls Apart

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Situations, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 12:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16555427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: Build a wall, plaster it up, and forget about it. Everything is fine. That’s what Dean says, anyways. That’s what he says until it all falls apart.





	'Til It All Falls Apart

**Author's Note:**

> _This was a request from the lovely @eurusholmmes that I just couldn’t pass up. I haven’t seen a stitch of the new season apart from some gifs, so this is entirely my own interpretation. Her full request is at the end, to prevent spoiling the fic._

A blast of blue light, and he was gone. He was cast out without ceremony, Dean’s limp body slumping to the ground with a thud. Sam was faster- he dropped to Dean’s side in a flash, pulling him upright as he slowly came to. It was,  _unsettling_ , to say the least- Dean dressed up in the clothes Michael had picked, newsboy cap and tweed suit. He looked like he’d crawled out from the Peaky Blinders set, the aesthetic so different to his usual plaid flannel and jeans.

“Dean? Is it really you?” Sam asked.

Dean winced and patted his shoulder, “Yeah, it’s really me.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, their silent conversation apparently enough for Sam to be sure, before he engulfed his brother in a hard hug. Dean caught your eyes over his shoulder, a weak smile the only reassurance he could give. You knelt down next to them as they pulled apart, ready to just pat him on the shoulder, but he just tugged you in close, hugged you tight as the breath shuddered out of him.

* * *

 

Three days. It’d been three days since he’d been free from Michael. Three days of Sam asking if he was okay, and him saying ‘peachy’. Everyone knew better, though. He was hardly eating, barely getting any sleep as evidenced by the dark circles under his eyes. His scruff was coming back in, too. You wanted to say something,  _anything_ , to try and chip away at the walls he’d built.

It wasn’t until that night at the bunker that you got the perfect opportunity. You’d just woken up with a headache and headed to the kitchen for some pain meds. Before you could get there though, you stumbled across Dean in the war room, his feet propped up as he sat in one of the leather wing-backed chairs with a book in his hand. His gaze was tired but intense, the droop of his eyes giving him away.

“Dean?” You asked quietly. He turned to look at you, his book tipped down. “You should get some rest, man.”

He rubbed a hand harshly over his face, sighing heavily. “Yeah, I just-  _nevermind_.”

“Nightmares?” you asked softly.

He attempted a sardonic smile. “Can’t fool you, can I?”

_You aren’t fooling anyone_ , you wanted to say. You kept it to yourself, though. “Want me to stay with you tonight?” you said instead.

He stared at you, almost looking through you, for a long moment. “I don’t wanna-”

“Dean,” you interrupted. “Just tell me what you need. Don’t worry about inconveniencing me, or whatever narrative you’ve got built up in your head. Just tell me what you need.”

He shut his book and dropped it to the floor, then reached for you. He grabbed at your hip and pulled you between his legs, and dropped his head to touch the softness of your belly. He seemed like a scared kid in that moment, and you couldn’t help but run your fingers over his scalp. You brushed them this way and that, scraping blunt nails over his scalp until he shivered, letting out a world-weary sigh.

You caught the smell of alcohol coming off of him- whiskey by the smell of it. You knew he’d been drinking a lot lately, and a quick glance at the near-empty decanter made you frown. Before Michael, he’d been drinking less, but it seemed the reprieve was short-lived.

“You want to know what I need,” Dean finally replied, his voice muffled against your shirt. “I need to forget. I need a distraction. I need- I need you.”

“I’m right here,” you said, cupping his cheek as he tilted his head back. “I’m right here, Dean. ’M right here.”

“No,” he grit out, “I mean, I need…  _I need you_. I need-” He shook his head, then stood abruptly, nearly falling over due to the rush to his head. He grabbed you by the face, kissing you fiercely. He kissed like he was angry, hurt. He licked into your mouth, hot and possessive, any line of rational thought lost except for the feel of him. He scooped you up, and hooked a hand around your thigh, the other on your ass as he moved through the bunker. He pressed you up against one wall, then another on his way to his room until he finally shut his door and pushed you to the bed. He plastered himself to you, the heat of him keeping the chill of the bunker at bay.

* * *

 

Sudden movement jarred you awake, Dean’s labored breathing filling the room. You cracked open sleepy eyes to see him, sitting bent over at the side of the bed.

“Dean?” you asked, pulling the covers up to cover your naked chest as you scoot toward him. You touched his back and he shot out of bed, his stance defensive and breath punching in and out. “Whoa, hey. It’s okay, it’s just me.”  
He blinked once, twice, then rubbed a hand over his weary face. “I can- I can still feel it. I can still  _feel_ him.”

“Dean, what-”

“He’s- I can’t…”

“Dean.” You started to slide out from under the covers, disregarding your nudity, until-

“Don’t,” he said, both his hands out. “I just- I can’t. Don’t.” Your heart broke as his voice cracked, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“It’s okay to not be okay, Dean. You don’t have to hide from me. From any of us. You don’t have to hide behind all those walls of yours. It’s okay.”

“I- ’m gonna take a shower,” he says, avoiding your eyes and darting from his room, careless that anyone could see him in his underwear.

Your eyes misted over as you sat there, hand holding his sheets to your chest, feeling bereft.

You stayed there for hours until everyone in the bunker started to wake up, the bustle of the morning starting to make its way to the room. You quickly dressed in your clothes from the night before, with still no sign of Dean as you headed to the kitchen.

To be fair, you weren’t expecting much. You knew that sleeping together didn’t mean you’d get together. You also knew that Dean was having a hard time. What you didn’t expect, though, was for Dean to breeze on by you to the coffee machine. You watched as he blatantly ignored you, his usual greeting in the morning no longer there. Sam stood at the counter, sipping his own coffee and observing the interaction, or lack thereof, with his brows drawn low. Dean picked up his mug and left, breezing right back on out of the kitchen, leaving you and Sam alone.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

You slapped your hand over your mouth as the tears came, Sam immediately at your side as you openly sobbed.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Dean and I, we-” you choked out another sob. “Oh, god Sam.”

“You two…”

“Yeah. And now… he left me. Won’t look at me.” You gasped for air. “I can’t. I can’t stay here, Sam.”

“What? No, I’ll talk to him-”

“I can’t, Sam. I can’t.” You held him by the front of his shirt, pleading with him.

You left that afternoon, pedal to the metal as trees flew by. You didn’t bother with goodbyes- except with Sam. He’d made you promise to call him when you had a chance to, wherever you ended up. All you had was packed in a bag, sliding around in the backseat as you passed the speed limit, cursing the way everything fell apart. 

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
